


Connor

by flyingmousetrap



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, This was supposed to be a 100 word prompt, stupid formatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingmousetrap/pseuds/flyingmousetrap
Summary: Connor always seems to be at the forefront of Hank's mind.





	Connor

Hank is an old man. So old that sometimes he actually forgets how old, and he’ll eat too much greasy-ass pizza and regret it a couple of hours later when he feels like his insides are about to fall out of his ass.  
So yeah, he’s no spring chicken - but who wants to be in this world? Who wants to be competing with androids and computer programs just to make a fucking living - he knows what he’s good at, detecting shit, and he knows that that kind of problem solving is always going to be best suited to grumpy old fucks with too little faith in the universe.

Until Connor anyway. 

When they'd introduced the beat cop androids to the force Hank hadn't been too worried about it - why shouldn't a talking toaster be the one who's stuck in the rain outside a crime scene, or had to watch drunken teens pour out of some shitty concert and make sure none of them choked on their own vomit? And they were good at it too, the androids, always calm and polite - and ever so neat in their special android uniforms. When the other guys down the station had moaned and talked about striking, or worse, Hank had just rolled his eyes and flagged the nearest one down for a coffee; they weren’t stepping on his toes.

That was, until Connor.

An android detective. An actual honest to God android _detective_. Not only with a detective’s brain on him; but with a whole CSI unit built into his; well into his mouth apparently, for some reason. And he was a good detective too, that probably would have annoyed Hank more if he hadn’t been increasingly distracted by his new partner - the top of the line deviant hunter - getting actively stressed and flustered and obviously deviant himself.

Connor said that it had been more complicated than that, but whatever. 

And then the whole world had gone to hell, well more than it had already, and there were riots on the streets and fucking _death camps_ set up around the city - though you weren’t supposed to call them that - and then. Then it was all over as quick as it had started, except androids were people now (no doy) and there was a hell of a lot of clean up to be getting on with, both literally and legally. Hank was better with the former than the latter, it was easier rounding up the assholes that had been looting than to listen in on another hearing pardoning an android in an obvious case of self-defence. But Connor insisted on sitting in on as many of those as they could.

Yeah, Connor was still there.

In Hank’s house, doing Hank’s laundry, and fixing up the drywall, and curling up on Hank’s sofa with Sumo and making inane comments about the old reruns of sitcoms Hank liked to fall asleep to. The android had basically become part of the furniture, overnight, it was as if Hank had always had a clean-cut live in twink who also happened to be his partner down at the station, and was a robot. But, it shouldn’t have been a surprise really, it wasn’t as if Connor had anywhere else to go, and Hank would have offered the kid a place to stay in a heartbeat.

Not that Connor had asked.

“I’m your partner, Hank.” That had been the only answer Connor had ventured when Hank had finally asked what he was planning on doing with his newfound freedom, and he knew the kid’s tells well enough at that point to hear the question in his words. And ‘partner’ was fine, ‘partner’ was enough - _more_ than enough, even, when one night Connor took it upon himself to crawl into Hank’s bed, stripped down to criminally neat black boxer-briefs. And the question had been there again; partners? And then they were, and maybe Hank should have stopped it, should have known better.

Connor sure didn’t know any better.

Hank is an old man, he’s a drunk, he’s a wreck, he doesn’t get his hair cut as often as he should, and he probably spoils his dog a bit too much. He is not, partner, material. Even when Connor insists on looking past Hank’s many flaws, cleans up his empty bottles, doesn't comment on how filthy his laundry is when picks it all up, doesn't take offense when Hank was too tired or too drunk to try and keep up with Connor’s almost unstoppable enthusiasm for the, ah, _newer_ aspects of his newfound humanity. 

Connor just didn’t care.

Hank wasn’t so stubborn that he didn’t recognise how he was starting to think about Connor, how he was starting to _feel_ about him. The kid slept in his bed every night now, well he said he was doing some android version of sleep anyway, but Hank was pretty sure Connor just recorded his snoring and made notes about it or something equally weird. Connor had some interesting priorities, or an interesting way of approaching them anyway. He clearly wanted Hank to lay off the booze, but he never said so outright, instead he’d start doing some suddenly urgent paperwork right at the table, or insist that Hank needed to drive him over to the grocery store right that second. Or they’d be in the middle of getting hot and heavy, Hank would be sober and horrendously turned on, Connor above him with that stupid flop of his hair getting in his eyes as they came together - and then Sumo would burst into the room and suddenly Connor’s reassuring weight would be gone, and Hank would sit up just to see that it was his dog that was suddenly the centre of his partner’s world. And Hank would just lie back and try to slow his breathing, the now all too familiar sound of an android mumbling what a good boy Sumo was and a tail thumping heavily against the floor. But Hank couldn’t hold it against him.

Connor just really liked dogs, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Alvin told me to write 100 words about Connor jumping out of bed mid-sex to pet Sumo so obviously I turned that into a 1000 word introspective.


End file.
